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Friday, February 24, 2017

In my work and my life, I notice that I go through times of
intense activity and productivity, but that these eventually spin down. No one
can maintain such a fever pitch indefinitely. When I am working “well,” I cruise
along at a sustainable rate, confident that I have that extra literary “gear”
when needed. The same is true for emotional intensity regarding political and
other matters, in my case preparing for the upcoming parole hearing of the man
who raped and murdered my mother. We step up to the plate, do what is
necessary, deal with what we must, and set aside what we cannot handle
(hopefully for some future time, rather than burying it indefinitely).

For every advance, there comes a rest. A rest is not a
retreat, not a failure, although at times it can seem so. We can become so
accustomed to putting forth our maximum effort that it becomes normal. It’s no
longer a matter of setting aside other needs to make a heroic effort; those
needs get put “on hold” indefinitely. We become desensitized to our own inner
promptings, as well as the needs of those closest to us such as our families
and partners. We can find all sorts of justifications for our continued dedication
to that task or good cause. Just because we can
carry the weight to the exclusion of everything else doesn’t mean that it’s
healthy for us to do so. It’s important to recognize the difference between an
emotionally intense sprint and a long-term, marathon effort.

Another reason why it’s often hard to let go of sprint-mode is that a return to a more
balanced life and normal energy levels feels like back-sliding or going in
reverse. It’s the emotional equivalent of how the room keeps spinning even when
we stop and stand still. Sometimes there is indeed a dip in energy to balance
out the extra energy expended during the all-out push. I have to keep reminding
myself that needing “down” time is not the same thing as weakness, failure, or deterioration.
Recharging my physical and emotional batteries, so to speak, is an essential
part of being able to take the next step forward.

These periods of rest always last longer than I think they
should. Recuperation and regeneration take time, and they also take resources.
Simply ceasing activity stops the outflow, but it may take a long time for the
inflow to restore balance. I think of
the earth as it passes through the seasons and how winter is a fallow time.
Fallow doesn’t mean inert, though. We may not be able to see it, but there are
slow, restorative changes happening in root and soil, branch and seed.

What
does it mean for me as a human being to be in a state of restoration as opposed
to immobility?

"Every evil act tends to harden man's heart, that is, to deaden it. Every good act tends to soften it, to make it more alive. The more man's heart hardens, the less freedom does he has to change; the more is he determined already by a previous action. But there comes a point of no return, when man's heart has become so hardened and so deadened that he has lost the possibility of freedom, when he is forced to go on and on until the unavoidable end which is, in the last analysis, his own physical or spiritual destruction."

Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Given everything I’ve been dealing with – fear about the
unfolding political scene on one hand and the recurring nightmare of an
upcoming parole hearing for the man who raped and murdered my mother on the
other – I have at times felt powerless. Not just powerless but unable to summon
the energy to continue what seems like an endless, life-draining battle. I
become prey to fear at these times, fear that I will slip back into unending
waking nightmare that was my experience of PTSD. I have worked hard to claw my
way back to health, and when I am overwhelmed, I forget all the lessons I have
learned and the ways I have changed.

It’s said that fear is False Evidence Appearing Real (or
Fuck Everything And Run). It takes courage and a dedication to clear-sighted
integrity, seeing what is real both in myself and in the world, to overcome
those fears.

But I’ve also heard courage is fear that has said its
prayers. I don’t have to be fearless. I’m not sure that’s possible without
massive self-delusion. To do what I am called to do even though I am afraid is the essence of courage.

Where do I find such courage? It’s commonplace to suppose
that “doing something for someone
else” or because no one else can do it is the best way to overcome fear. I’ve
done my share of acting according to this belief. I find that although it is
sometimes effective, it’s harsh instead of nourishing. It’s a position of
desperation. I soon find myself “running on empty.” I’m the last person I take
care of or even give consideration to. In fact, the very notion that taking
action when afraid can be nourishing
came as a startling revelation to me.

There are so many things I cannot change, the past being at
the top of that list. But I do have some say in my own attitude. Instead of seeing
myself as desperate and without any choices but to plunge ahead, gritting my
teeth the whole way, I can see myself as resourceful. I learned to do this for
others when my kids were having a hard time in their teenaged years and my
therapist pointed out that they didn’t need me to inflict my own worries on
them, communicating that I thought they were incapable of handling their
problems; what they needed was my faith in their ability to find their own creative
solutions.

So if I’m going to be creative and resourceful in facing the
parole hearing and the distress rampant in my community, I need to think “outside
the box.” Not attending the hearing is an option that never occurred to me in
the early years. Once I let go of “I have
to do this,” I see other possibilities. Some I can anticipate on a
reasonable basis (another family member might attend, a representative of the
D.A.’s office might – actually, does – attend; I could send a video of my
statement; I could hire an attorney to attend in my place), but I must also
keep in mind that my imagination doesn’t dictate what happens. Many times I
thought I knew all the possible outcomes, only to discover that what actually
happened was something I had no way of anticipating.

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